


Blowing Smoke

by fallen_arazil



Series: Sex and Cigarettes [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, D/s, Dirty Talk, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Verbal Humiliation, cigarette kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_arazil/pseuds/fallen_arazil
Summary: An erotic character study of pre-game John and Arthur's mutual antagonism and it's implications vis-a-vis--j/k this fic is about blowjobs.You'd think after all this time, John would have figured out the perfect way to say 'just let me suck your dick, you fucking asshole', but that was usually conveyed in subtext.





	Blowing Smoke

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the certainties of this world](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17281271) by [vicariously kingly (pelted)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelted/pseuds/vicariously%20kingly). 



> If you are reading my other fic, Samaritan, just be very aware that this is nooooot that John and Arthur. _Really_ not.
> 
> Partly inspired by *points at above*. Seriously go read it losers. It's not _really_ about property taxes, I promise.

Quite often, Arthur would smoke a cigarette while John was sucking him off. It drove John absolutely _insane_.

Not with lust—with _frustration_. Frustration that he could get the breath for it, that he could lie back while John's mouth was on his dick and drag on a cigarette like he was reading the paper. John couldn't count the number of times that he'd looked up and found Arthur leaned back, one hand behind his head, the other holding a cigarette to his wet mouth, face wreathed in smoke—

Okay, lust was part of it. When John was particularly edgy just the sight of Arthur cupping his hands around a match to light his smoke was enough to make him hard. Because everything about Arthur got him off like crazy—getting on his knees for the man would have him panting, gagging for it; John frequently got off even before Arthur did, unable to keep his own hand off his dick when Arthur was on his tongue. It left him feeling like a supplicant, a worshiper at the throne, paying tribute. When he was hard he didn't care, almost _liked_ it, but after, when Arthur would lazily offer to share that already half-smoked cigarette, he would wonder if it mattered at all to Arthur that it was _John's_ mouth, in particular, on his cock.

"Maybe you're just not that interesting, Martson," Arthur had drawled, smoke rolling off his tongue, the first time John had demanded he pay more attention—John's hands on Arthur's naked hips and Arthur's dick spit-wet against his lower lip, _not that interesting_.

It didn't matter—John always came back. Several times he convinced himself that, if he wasn't _interesting_ enough, Arthur could just get it somewhere else, but then Arthur would do something (chopping wood, shirtsleeves rolled up to his his elbows, forearms flexing, or washing up, bare-chested, hands on his own skin, water dripping across his broad frame) and he would be desperate for it again, horny as kid that just discovered his dick.

This time, it was a fight. Arthur rarely brawled with folk in the camp—both because he thought himself above it, and also because, well … who would pick a fight with Arthur? But Joshua was young, ambitious, nearly as big as Arthur, and had got it into his head that favored son status could be decided in a fistfight. It took Joshua _hours_ of goading, of needling, the other camp members shaking their heads at his foolishness, before Arthur finally belted him—one hard left knocking the man instantly to the ground, spitting blood, looking dazed.

"You wanted my attention, Joshua Miller—well, now you got it," Arthur told the fallen man, his shoulders flexing under his shirt as he settled into his stance, voice gritty and dangerous. When he leaned down to grasp Joshua by the shirt collar the kid looked like he finally grasped the gravity of his situation, clinging weakly to Arthur's wrist, apologizing in a thready voice while Arthur looked down at him, eyes dark and hard. The kid was terrified, and John?

John was hard as a fucking rock, god help him.

He had to wait. First, for Arthur to finish kicking the shit out of Joshua, then for Arthur to finish dragging the boy to Hosea to be patched up. It was _torture_. He could have _asked_ , of course—tilted his mouth to Arthur's ear, _let's get out of here_ , but he had his pride, goddamn it, and Arthur had enough excuses to be smug. No, he had to wait for Arthur to head out by himself, heading for the creek with a towel and a bar of soap to wash off Joshua's blood.

John barely waited for him to be out of sight before following.

Arthur already had a cigarette in his mouth when John caught up to him, dangling carelessly from his lips as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, crouched by the water. His expression turned knowing the moment he saw John stalking up the path, mouth quirking into a smirk.

"Something got you bothered, John?" He called out, rising to his feet. There was blood flecked on his face and shirt, and his knuckles were swollen, starting to bruise. Other than that he was uninjured—Joshua hadn't even gotten a lick in.

You'd think after all this time, John would have figured out the perfect way to say _just let me suck your dick, you fucking asshole_ , but that was usually conveyed in subtext. "Less talking," he said instead, grasping Arthur's shirt in both hands to back him up against the nearest tree. Arthur went easily, chuckling under his breath, dragging absently on his cigarette even as John shoved him bodily up against the tree.

"Look at you," Arthur drawled, smoke spilling across his lips. "A little friendly violence and you're all hot under the collar."

"You want it or not?" John snapped back, his hands on the buckle of Arthur's gunbelt. In answer Arthur slid his hands under John's and undid his belt himself, letting it fall with a thud. He shrugged his suspenders off next, casually, like he was in no hurry at all, and began undoing the buttons of the fly of his denims, one by one. He could have been getting undressed to sleep, for how little eagerness he displayed. "Don't act so excited," John muttered sarcastically, eyes glued Arthur's fingers undoing those buttons, pop pop pop.

"You wanna get me excited, John?" Arthur murmured, and when John glanced up his eyes were nearly as dark as they had been when he was staring down Joshua, though now with the promise of something other than violence. "Maybe a fella like me needs a bit more _romance_."

It was mocking, derisive, it was Arthur to a _tee_ , and John always seemed to forget, when it had been a while, how much sex with Arthur also made him want to punch him in the mouth. "Maybe a fella like you needs a kick in the _teeth."_

Arthur tilted his head, and then he shoved John down to his knees with one push, John nearly falling onto his face with the force of it. "I don't think that's really what you wanna do, John," Arthur said, his voice deceptively gentle, almost _sweet_ , as he stroked one hand through John's hair to the back of his head before making a fist, pulling hard enough to hurt. It made John catch his breath, because this wasn't how this _went_. They would snipe and Arthur would needle at John to get him ornery, then John would suck him off with that skittery feeling of agitation under his skin, like he was proving something, and if John managed to hold off sometimes Arthur would jerk him off after, gun-calloused hands confident and somewhat impersonal.

Now Arthur was tilting John's head back with his left hand knotted in his hair, throat arched, while he finished unfastening his trousers with his right, letting them fall just enough to expose his hard prick, full and red and making John want to keen under his breath.

"I think you want me to lose it," Arthur was continuing, stroking his hand slowly along his cock, inches from John's upturned face. "I'm thinking you're poking at me because you want me to lay you out like I did to poor li'l Joshua. I'm thinking you liked seeing me get _bloody_."

"I seen you bloody plenty'a times," John gasped, almost defiantly, even though liquid heat was pooling steadily in his belly from the intense way Arthur was looking at him, like he was seeing him for the first time, his green eyes lidded and thoughtful.

Arthur cocked his head, considering, and slapped him across the face. _Hard_.

John gasped and without conscious thought started scrabbling at the fastenings of his trousers because _shit_ that had hurt, made his ears ring, and he was suddenly so hard he thought he might come right in his pants.

" _Stop_ ," Arthur said, shaking John slightly with the hand in his hair. The reprimand was sharp. "You can touch yourself or you can touch me, but pick quick or I'll pick _for_ you."

 _"Jesus,"_ John breathed, snapping his hands up to curl into the waistband of Arthur's trousers. "What—"

"Shut up," Arthur said, conversationally, gripping John's chin in his right hand and tilting his head back further, until his back was arched and the back of his neck was aching. "The only things I wanna hear outta your mouth from here on are _yes, no,_ and _please_." He traced his thumb along John's bottom lip, pushing slowly between his teeth. "Not that I'm promising to _listen_ , mind."

John was gripping Arthur's pants so tightly that his knuckles were white. He felt dizzy with arousal, off balance; never had he felt more aware of how _dangerous_ Arthur was, John bent back on his knees, Arthur's hands the only things keeping him from falling back into the dirt.

He was so turned on he thought he might pass out before he even got his mouth on Arthur's dick.

Arthur abruptly let go of him, and John had to yank himself forward with his grip on Arthur's trousers to keep from falling backwards. He wound up with his face mashed up against Arthur's hipbone, buttons of his trousers digging into John's jaw. Arthur's cock slapped against John's cheek, wet at the tip.

He heard the sound of a match scraping against the bark of the tree, Arthur lighting a fresh cigarette as he settled his shoulders against the bark. "Well?" He prompted, eyes hooded when John glanced up.

Wide eyed, John turned a mere inch to put his mouth on the base of Arthur's prick, open and wet, sliding slowly up its length towards the tip. He was acutely aware of Arthur watching him, hat throwing his eyes into shadow, smoke wreathing his face. He didn't usually worry about putting on a show, but then, Arthur didn't usually watch him so keenly.

"Boy, if you don't do something pretty damn interesting pretty damn quick, I'm gonna jerk off on your face and go back to my washing up."

John's hips jerked up helplessly against nothing as he groaned. He sunk his mouth down over Arthur's length so quickly he nearly choked, the accidental scrape of teeth making Arthur growl, making him drop a hand down to the side of John's throat, right above his collarbone, and _squeeze_ , like a warning, thumb pressing under his Adam's apple hard enough to be uncomfortable, just short of painful. He was more careful as he pulled off, jaw slack, tongue pressed hard against the large vein on the underside, wet and sloppy.

The grip on his neck turned into something more like a caress, Arthur's thumb stroking up his throat to slot right under the soft part of his jaw. "Good boy," he murmured, and John's cheeks went hot with embarrassment, eyelids fluttering, as he went down again, as far as he could go, until Arthur was lodged in the back of his throat, making his eyes water. Arthur let out a low grunt that sounded like it came from somewhere deep down below his ribs, fingers tightening against the side of John's neck, so John did it again, pulling off loose and wet and sliding back down until his throat ached.

Arthur let out another grunt—longer, breathier, more like a moan—and the hand on John's neck twisted into the hair at his nape, holding him still when Arthur rolled his hips, shoving in deeper, blocking John's airway until spots started to appear in his vision and he was clawing at Arthur's thighs desperately, squirming in the dirt because he had never been this hard in his _life_.

He gasped when Arthur finally let up, eyes watering, chin wet with spit. " _Please,_ " he coughed out, because that had been on Arthur's list, that was _allowed_.

"Aw, you want something, Johnny?" he cooed, a mockery of kindness, and held John's head still with both hands while he fucked his mouth in long, arching thrusts, every few pushes grinding so deep that it choked, John's nose buried in the curling hair at his groin. "Gotta say, I never met anyone as starving for cock as you are. Had whores who couldn't take it _near_ as well as you."

John's face was flaming, humiliation and asphyxia and the filthy, wet sounds every time Arthur sank deep into his throat combining to make him light-headed, off-balance. He felt like Arthur's hands in his hair were the only thing holding him up. He hadn't even noticed that Arthur's cigarette had been dropped to the ground, still smoldering.

"Never can keep your mouth shut unless you've got a dick in it," Arthur grunted, sounding slightly breathless, sounding _affected_ in a way he never did, and when John moaned around his prick, unable to stop himself, Arthur shuddered and cursed, pulling on John's hair so hard that his whole head ached with it. "Oughta tie you up next time, make you _beg_ me to let you suck me off—wouldn't _that_ be a pretty picture, you just drooling for my prick and maybe I _wouldn't give it to you—_ "

He suddenly yanked John's mouth off of his cock with curse. While John gasped for breath, Arthur's spend striped across his cheek, the hand that had just been yanking on John's hair now wringing out the last drops onto the corner of John's open mouth, Arthur groaning lowly as he let head fall back against the tree behind him. John had been gripping Arthur's hips so hard that his hands were cramping, joints popping as he frantically untied the fastenings of his trousers. The first brush of his hand against his cock, even though his underwear, had him gasping, he was _so close_ already—

The cuff to the side of his head knocked him onto his hands, sudden as a lightning strike. "Now, what did I tell you?" Arthur chided, as he yanked John to his feet with one hand. He fisted the collar of John's shirt to spin him around, his back to Arthur's chest. " _No touching_. You _get_ what I _give_ you."

He pulled John's arms up and pinned them to John's chest with the arm he wrapped around him, pulling John tight up against his chest. Skinny as John was, one of Arthur's arms nearly went all the way around him, strong as an iron band. He dropped the other right on top of John's cock, which was standing out of his opened pants, tenting his union suit obscenely. He squeezed, once, with his whole hand, hard enough to make John whimper pathetically and twist against his grip.

"Look at you," Arthur murmured, his breath against John's ear making him shiver, "so worked up from choking on my dick. Does it _hurt_ , darlin'?" He rubbed his palm over John's prick thought the fabric, the rough cotton chafing. "Think I could get you off just like this? Have you coming in your pants like a fucking teenager?"

" _Please_ ," John gasped, and Arthur must have taken pity on him, because he popped the buttons on John's union suit one-handed and took John in a grip that was just shy of painful. There was no teasing, just Arthur yanking on him at a brutal pace, breathing heavy and wet against John's clean cheek. John couldn't stop his breathy groans as he dropped his head back on Arthur's shoulder, and after a second Arthur released his arms so he could clamp his other hand over John's open mouth, gripping tight to muffle the noise.

Even with that, the shout John let out when he finally came was embarrassingly loud. It felt like he was coming for ages, his vision going black at the edges and his muscles trembling like he was palsied. Arthur had to drop his arm back down around his chest to hold him up as his legs turned to jelly. Arthur was murmuring in his ear as he trembled through the aftershocks—gentle quelling words like John was a frightened horse—as he lowered them both to the ground. It was mortifying how they made a tremulous warmth curl up in the bottom of John's gut.

They sat like that for a moment, John leaning back against Arthur's chest, framed between his sprawled legs, as he caught his breath. After a moment he heard the strike of match, and Arthur's hand, the one that had been clamped tight over John's mouth just a moment ago, held a cigarette to John's lips. John curled his hand around Arthur's wrist as he took a drag.

"You know," John said, meditatively, mouth almost brushing against Arthur's calloused fingertips, "you _could_ tie me up. If you wanted," and Arthur's chest shuddered against his back when he started to laugh.

 


End file.
